


High Noon

by veritashopian



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Abduction, Blood, Gen, Hostage Situation, Kidnapping, Ransom, Violence, Western AU, bandit!Indrid, indruck, sheriff!Duck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 06:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritashopian/pseuds/veritashopian
Summary: Most people know Indrid Cold as a reformed bandit. Duck Newton knows him as the Mothman.Most people know Duck Newton as the local sheriff. Indrid’s old friends know him as a weakness.





	High Noon

The thing about his disguise is that everything Indrid sees is tinted red. The plains, the mountains, the river, and everyone he meets all appear to him in shades of crimson and maroon. 

But even now, flying through the air with his glasses clutched in his claws, Indrid sees red. His wings pound the air around him in a thundering roar as he soars over the ravine toward the old mine. The ground shoots past below him and still he urges the wind to carry him ever faster. 

It hadn’t seemed real when he found the note. One of his nightmares, or one of the stubborn timelines that occasionally jump to the forefront of his mind without permission. But he’d raced to check the sheriff’s office, saw the wreckage and overturned furniture, smelled the sour and salty scent of fresh blood-

_ -blood, nearly black through the tinted lenses of Indrid’s glasses, the scent familiar enough to set a fire in his veins and his lungs that he hasn’t felt in decades- _

-and promptly taken to the skies.

The ravine disappears behind him in a few strokes of his wings and Indrid follows a downdraft to swoop behind the hills. He knows the abandoned mineshaft he’s looking for, has even used it to hole up in the past when he was on the run from the law. Ironically, the first time he’s been back in years is to chase down the law.

Once he’s low enough, Indrid slips his glasses back onto his face and hits the ground running. He doesn’t slow down until he gets as close as he can without being seen, at which point he hunkers down behind some boulders and pulls a shaving mirror from his pocket. And for the first time since he took off, he takes a moment to examine his surroundings.

The rotted boards that once blockaded the mineshaft lay around the opening in splinters, destroyed by the bandits currently taking refuge inside. Two of them, vaguely familiar and distinctly vile, stand guard on either side of the tunnel’s mouth. From this distance, Indrid can just make out what they’re saying.

“Sure he’s gonna show?” the one on the right asks, checking a battered old pocket watch. “It’s almost noon and we haven’t heard any hooves yet.”

“‘Course he’ll show,” the one on the left scoffs. He snubs out his cigarette on the ground with the toe of his boot. “You think Cold would be dumb enough to ride a horse up in here? He’ll come round that corner any second, just wait.”

_ Keep talking,  _ Indrid thinks wildly.  _ Let me know he’s okay. _

The one on the right still looks concerned. “Jeez, I hope so. If I have to take one more turn guarding the hostage I’m gonna end up like Benny and Cal. You see those bite marks? They looked painful as hell.”

Relief hits Indrid like a steam train, knocking the breath from his lungs.  _ Duck is okay.  _

As quickly as it comes, it gets overshadowed by the rage that surges back to the surface at hearing Duck referred to as ‘the hostage.’ But Indrid clamps down on his homicidal instincts, pockets the mirror, and slowly walks into view of the bandits.

They both jump at the sight of him, which would be hilarious under normal circumstances. “Holy shit. It’s Indrid Cold,” the shorter bandit on the right gasps.

“Shut up Cyrus,” the other one snaps, and then sneers at Indrid. “So you really did show up. Ya got what the boss asked for?”

Indrid smiles placidly and holds up a hand. “I’m going to have to stop you right there, mister- Jacob Cross, wasn’t it? I think we both know how this goes, and I’m not dealing with you  _ or  _ your yellow bellied boss until you show me Duck Newton alive and well.”

The little one, Cyrus, fumbles for his gun but halts at the command of his friend. “Settle down there, pardner,” Jacob drawls. “We got yer fella inside, he’s doing just fine. We’ll let the boss know you’re out here and she’ll bring the hostage out with her, ya hear?”

HIs jaw is starting to hurt from smiling so intensely. “Mighty well, thank you. I’ll be right here waiting.”

Jacob sends Cyrus scampering into the mine with a quick jerk of his chin, leaving the two of them alone. Neither man speaks or reaches for his weapon- neither is quite impulsive or stupid enough to. Indrid distracts himself by counting heartbeats.

After roughly two dozen, he hears footsteps. Multiple pairs, maybe even dozens. This motley crew has grown bigger since the last time Indrid crossed paths with them, and more self-assured as a result. It’s probably the reason they thought kidnapping a sheriff was anything close to a good idea. They flood out of the mine and form a half circle around him, but Indrid isn’t paying them any mind. There are only two faces he’s interested in seeing.

Indrid counts thirty nine heartbeats before he spots the leader of the bandits. Caroline’s older than Indrid remembers but still a formidable opponent on any battlefield. “Cold,” she says in greeting, giving him a mocking tip of her hat. “Much obliged to you for delivering  _ my  _ share of the Rockport stagecoach heist. So obliged, in fact, I don’t think I’ll even charge ya any interest.”

_ Forty six, forty seven.  _ “Where is he?”

Caroline smirks and shakes her head. “Oh, Indrid. Never were one for pleasantries, were ya?” Without breaking eye contact, she snaps her fingers. “Jessie, bring him out.”

A tired looking young woman pushes forward to the front of the group. A rush of pride fills Indrid at the state of her- she looks like she went a few rounds with a wild buffalo and lost, her clothes torn and muddy and her coppery hair tangled wildly around her face. But then ( _ fifty eight, it was fifty eight now)  _ Indrid sees the state of the man she’s steering by the shoulder and his heart falls still and silent altogether.

Duck Newton is as tough as they come. Rugged, some might even call him. Indrid has seen him take down enemies without firing a single shot; hell, he’s  _ been  _ taken down by Duck before. And not once in all the time he’s known the man has he ever been seriously injured.

The Duck Newton who stands before him blinks in the bright midday sun, unadjusted to light from his time held captive in the mine. They must have caught him when he was either going to sleep or getting dressed, because he only has an undershirt and breeches to keep him warm and his feet are bare. Rough rope pins his arms to his sides and chokes the air from his throat. Blood dribbles from his split lip and from a cut over one swollen black eye, and it takes him longer than it should but when his good eye locks on Indrid it’s lucid and calm. Duck nods once, nearly imperceptible, as if to say ‘I’m fine.’

Unfortunately, Indrid isn’t. His knuckles go white, his fingernails digging harshly into the skin of his palms. “Caroline,” he says evenly, still smiling. “This isn’t the arrangement you described. You said he would remain unharmed.”

“Indrid,” Duck tries to say, but Jessie shoves him hard and he stumbles, falling to his knees on the dusty ground. “Ow, what the fuck, easy!”

Well, now Indrid knows who he’s killing second.

“Y’know, that really was our plan,” Caroline muses, completely unaware of how close she is to being ripped apart. “But goddamn Indrid, you really can pick ‘em. This boy’s a fighter, I tell you what. Was a real pain in the ass knockin’ em out and keepin’ em quiet this whole time, the fucker kept tryin’ to fight back.” 

“Yes, he does tend to do that. But please, that’s enough chit chat.” Indrid moves his hand in slow, obvious movements to reach for the purse on his belt. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Caroline taps a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s have ya count it out first, Cold. Could be fun, lettin’ yer lover boy here see exactly how much he’s worth to ya.”

His smile slips a fraction and the air around them drops several degrees. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he says, struggling to remain even tempered outwardly if not inwardly. “If you know me at all, you know I wouldn’t gamble with his life like that. Unlike someone else we both know.”

The bandit leader’s pleasant expression turns sour, and she draws her gun with no warning. Taking a hold of Duck’s hair, which is about at her waist height due to him kneeling, she uses her other hand to hold the revolver to his temple. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. I can see why you like him so much, but if you’re not gonna cooperate he’s worth more to me dead than alive. Show me the money or I blow his goddamn brains out right here.”

Everyone is silent for several seconds. And then Indrid starts walking forward.

“That’s far enough,” Caroline says once he’s about ten paces away. “Now drop your belt and get to it.”

Indrid keeps walking.

Caroline cocks the revolver and shoves it up under Duck’s chin, forcing his head back. “I said that’s far enough! Drop your fucking belt!”

Indrid pauses. Looks at her. Puts a hand to his belt and lets it fall, gun and purse clattering uselessly to the ground. Smiles. 

Duck breaks the quiet with a chuckle.

Caroline jolts and looks down at him, shocked. “What the hell are  _ you  _ laughing at?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Duck laughs. “Just- you really don’t know who you’re dealing with, do ya?” He looks at Indrid and there’s a gleam in his eye, a gleam that Indrid loves to see. “Darlin’, when are you gonna stop playin’ around and take me home?”

Indrid lowers his glasses, but the red tint remains over his vision. He keeps smiling, wider and wider as he removes them entirely and assumes his true form. The bandits gasp and cower in the shadow of his wings and stare openly at his antennae and his enormous red eyes.

Only Caroline keeps enough cool to stay resolutely on her feet. “What the hell is that thing?” she murmurs in cold terror.

Indrid chirps and takes another step forward. Caroline screams and pulls the trigger-

-but a split second before that, a clawed hand shoots out and crushes the barrel of her gun. The machine jams, useless, and Indrid tosses it behind him at the same time that another hand emerges from his side and picks Caroline up by the throat. She gasps for breath, hands scrabbling uselessly at the claws around her neck.

As Indrid rips her throat out, splattering blood all over his feathers and Duck on the ground, he looks over the amassed bandits. “That,” he says cheerfully around a grinning set of mandibles. “Is your cue to start running.”

**Author's Note:**

> Helvetica, this is my favorite thing to come out of the discord server and I attribute it to you!!


End file.
